justice wrought as words tumble out/ at least for now- I am a vampire (Part 1)

a worm bite it is as I take rounds around the walking path

of the garden where the mutts shout, reclaim their territory,

I get the notion to return back and open the empty pages

so to absorb their whiteness through my trembling fingers

as they begin to trot on their own accord, a voice found

some words to relinquish my thirst, my loquacious desires

.

“You look very much like a vampire,” a class mate says to me,

I make the gesture of biting my own wrist so that the blood

shall run free, and sniff the air of imaginative dreams

“Hello, unique,” a mate calls me out from the crowd

and I embrace his title for me, the uniqueness imbued in us all

struggling to sore out in the form of an image

to represent the remains that are left of me

.

how little I know my vanity, how much I know my individuality,

sins I create, sins I commit, I am pardoned by my justice

that stings like the worm bite and I caress it incredulously

.

Thank you so much for your support. I haven’t replied to your kind comments in my previous post but I have embraced your love and the beauty of your kind words.
This poem here is a part of a series of poems: “I am a vampire”. I have already written the second part as well. So, it is final that it would at least have two parts and if it happens to be so, I would like to continue further with it.

Nowadays

The daily routine comes along and sometimes, it takes away all those things from you that you cherish and treasure beyond anything else. This blog has been my friend since the last three years. I recently had my 3rd anniversary on WordPress. And today, I find it so difficult to share some words here. There has been a slight shift in the activities that I indulge in to keep this life going.

I have started my college life now. And my entire day is spent there, from 9 to 5. After that, there is nothing much left to do. I eat. I read a few articles online. I watch some TV. I research for college work. I sleep. Another day begins and the routine shadows me once again. I have ached for this routine during some of the hardest days in the last couple of years and now when I have found it, I am rather disturbed and a little perturbed by its presence. May be it is because this routine has left so little of time that I could spend with myself. I think I had become quite habitual to entire days which I lived in company of no one but that of my own. The solitude had become a part of me, inseparable from me, that now I search for it here and there.

I am studying Hotel Management. I joined this course, thinking that it would make me active and practical, garnering skills necessary for this service industry. I won’t go in detail but I don’t feel the same anymore. Though I still find some subjects interesting, like the Front office operations and Food Production. The work has been rather theoretical by now but I know that it will change with time.

Such things are trivial. But the major concern is the gruesome result of these bursts of active participation in these days, I am not writing. I haven’t written a complete poem since long. Some fragments do tear themselves away from me at certain stances and that is all. I want to grieve for this loss that I am experiencing. But I am not feeling anything at all.

I am just another body, unconsciously counting the seconds. I am a soul, who can’t be satisfied. I am the flesh that is just meant for the physical domain. I am a heart writhing and singing, unheard. My pulse continues. I am alive. I breathe. I look at the snapshot of a day at a time. The past is erasing some of its own lines. The future is out of my reach. The present is me. I flow with the tides of time.

.

Image source

I stumble and slip by words, we DaNcE

I’ve got to buy a black tie, a shoe or two,

my off-white shirt hung on steeped lines of mind

and my factitious face is to be blurred so I could

be a stranger amid the strangers of words

and sneak my anonymity into the festivity

 

will you dance with me tonight?

I would hold you, lead you but we would as much fall,

I stumble through rhymes, I slip through rhythm,

a mellow hand can walk me across the room

to the out where the moon shines and stars make a queue

 

will you… will you hold my hand tonight?

I will burp after a huge serving of delight

brought forth by the luminescent phantoms,

let me twirl around like a swan, let me

shake my waist of rusted verse, let me dance

 

will you abjure structure for me tonight?

come, let us walk to the antediluvian tide of time

where I slither through your hands like wet soil,

that should be the end, the vessel of life

I leave to you, take a sip and make a move

 

a poem infused in my vein, a drug-induced sleep

I never wake up, or if I do, I am still naked

devoid of diction, I smother my earnest arms

while feathers of summer float down the sky in shards

and I blow like a balloon along the breeze that lasts

 

For dVerse, where the celebrations are plenteous and the dance is going on.

Image source: 10 Hairy Legs’ Scott Schneider in Julie Bour’s “The Blind Men and the Elephant”. Scenic Design: Benjamin Heller. Photo: Steven Trumon Gray.

Anm

hey poet, I would like to walk with you

I was hollow, still am if you prod my vocabulary

to pinpoint that sensation when I desert the words

or do they me, the time is my solemn constabulary

and shields my malady I tell of, or so you’ve heard

 .

how you see my silver stories, filled cups of caffeine,

I cherish yours for they have a linen white reality

thou art a poet, I am a subjective grain seldom seen,

it was a dire dare that made me relinquish my sanity

 .

I am a sentimental sucker, I suck blood red lollipops

to keep me company, I would like to walk with you

you don’t know me but I encroach upon, I shop

for a locket of learning in creative world you drew

 .

I seal a numinous bond with your words, your poetry,

a stubborn in-patient, would you empathize with me?

I wilt within the blanket, my knees sing of coquetry

no grudge, no love, observing, I sail in waves of glee

 .

and I think to revere you poet of old, I shall holler

that I receive from all that you touch with your color

.

For MLM Menagerie’s Wordle # 17 and dVerse, where the odes/tributes to the poets flow out  today.

Anm

Image source

Lips’ Conundrum

 

the lips mumble and go silent

when the bricks fall apart,

one by one: a pile of a life,

striking each other to

demolish some and let

the rest create a conundrum

 .

he has been a mook, a chancer

scavenging for gold in garbage

none do understand, none will know

that his is a life lived tomorrow,

present is a hive of expectations,

past is what has been escaped

 .

that has lighted up the bulb:

a 50 watts power, gleaming

when it goes dark, haranguing

to itself, none to listen, none would,

the bricks keep falling, the eyes

drop out, and the lips now mum

to let the story reach its end

.

(Art by Gabriel Neffke)

Written in consideration of Photo Challenge #16 at Mind Love Misery’s Menagerie.

Anm

Green

a bud reaches out

conjured by the smoke whirls-

day light blows off

.

green tunnel of trees-

a boy from a passing bus

plucks a specked leaf

.

An inactive spell has infiltrated my mind and my senses nowadays. And here I wrote what I saw in a memory or a dream, when it arrived at my door of current thought.

For Carpe Diem # 507 and the upcoming prompt of Heeding Haiku With HA on Wedbesday, where I talk about improvising our haiku by taking care of certain details while writing. Do not forget to visit Mind Love Misery’s Menagerie for a variety of writing prompts throughout the week,

Image source

Anm

I think I cawed at the crow today

I saw a crow today, he sat

upon a dish antenna

singing to his self his melancholy,

looking hither-thither, to find

a lost comrade or may be it is

just his proclivity,

.

my eyes fixated at his actions

he never looked at me, not a single while

but I resolved myself to the spot

thinking that if I stand for long

he would glide and come sit atop

my shoulder, or may be it was

just a proclivity of my mind

.

nevertheless he took his flight

never was a flight so entrancing,

not that of a peacock, not a koel,

not even an eagle,

and I think he prided himself

in his beauty: his disparity,

and that of my own

Anm.

Written on 3 July’2014.

Oil Painting by Vanessa van Eyk